


Waiting on the outskirts

by headraline



Series: Worth the Troubles [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: "original character" as in Estrella, Gen, I seem to be unable to keep songs out of my fics, M/M, Reaper pov, Reaper!centric, also family dynamics, also most of the other if only mentioned in passing, because Estrella takes after her cyborg ninja uncle and is a little shit, but it's from Star Struck-verse so it's there, goddamnit, halp, it's just that I listen to them while I write and they fit so well, the mchanzo is just barely there and the genyatta is just hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: Reaper finds himself back into Overwatch, whether he likes it or not.It strikes him as just plain crazy -but then again, normalcy doesn't really apply to him.Some things you simply can't get away from.





	Waiting on the outskirts

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH  
> It's here.  
> FINALLY, the Reaper76 recovery arc.
> 
> Meshed with the events of Star Struck's last chapter, of course.  
> And yes, once again someone is singing.  
> I just really like music, okay?  
> Also come on, this is totally fit for Reaper, no one will tell me otherwise: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mB6_BPT6VFk  
> there are like a billion versions, some with background music, some without. Choose your favourite.  
> Either way.  
> Take this.  
> I can only hope I did them justice.
> 
> Title is taken from another song that I've been loving recently for which the lyrics are SO Reaper76 it's not even funny: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CsmILm-mB8  
> Like come on! "And the thing that I hold true it ain't just the dark, it's the dark in you"? It's basically fancy wording for "I love you you emo edgelord".  
> But I digress. Enjoy.

_This is bullshit._

It’s the first coherent thought Gabriel has, once he wakes up in Gibraltar’s medbay, already cuffed to a bed and hooked to a monitoring device. He looks at the cufflink around his wrist like it’s personally insulting his whole family –it’s not like he can’t easily smoke out of it, but even supposing he does… where would he go, after? He can travel far, but wouldn’t get very far with the entire reformed Overwatch right on his ass.

He sighs, letting himself sink back into the headrest and looking around. They have made a show of stripping him of weapons and ammo, even though he can literally pull shotguns out of thin air, this is _so stupid—_ the feeling of his bare, half-dissolved face when he goes to smack himself with his hand sends a jolt of panic through him. He’s never been self-conscious about his looks, but the face he wears now means something so much more and so much worse that he can’t even bear to look at it himself most of the time.

Lowering his gaze, he notices that someone had the thoughtfulness to leave his hood and owl mask on a nightstand within reach even from his cuffed position. His lips quirk despite himself.

“And you have the cojones to call _me_ out about spilling info.” Shaking his head, he grabs his cloak and makes himself more presentable. With a huff, he tries to shake the offending thoughts crowding in his head.

_No. That bridge is long burned. Don’t do this to yourself, idiota._

Just then, the door to the medbay slides open, revealing a visibly uncomfortable Angela Ziegler.

“What’s up, doc?” his gravelly, ghost-like voice seems to worsen her discomfort.

Good. It’s best if they remember he isn’t exactly human anymore.

But instead of leaving him to wallow in his own bullshit, Angela smiles her sad smile for him, and shuffles closer, to get readings from the machine he’s hooked to.

For a while, everything is silent, as the good doctor goes through procedures or whatever the hell she thinks she could accomplish on someone like _him_ , but when she finally speaks it’s like a sucker punch to Gabriel’s gut.

“This is my fault.”

Gabe never really thought about it, didn’t remember much aside from waking up already within Talon grounds and even that is fuzzy as a result of the attempted brainwash –it took quite a bit to regain a basic grasp on his own mind, and only after that he realized that he had been quietly sabotaging them and himself on the sly. Sombra picked up on it and for whatever reason she started helping him. He too feels a pang of guilt, she’s still there, after everything, but he knows she won’t leave until she manages to pull Amélie back as well, first.

In the absence of a verbal response from her charge, Angela continues. “When the explosion happened, I ran around like crazy to do as much healing as I could. When I found you, you were—” there’s a stutter to her voice that betrays a deeper emotion than what she’s showing, “…unresponsive. I couldn’t find a pulse, but didn’t give up. I thought maybe your body was just into shock; and I blasted you full force with the Caduceus. When it did nothing, I despaired.” She sits on the edge of the bed, giving up the pretence of being there just for the test results. “I felt so useless, I wanted to just curl up and cry. But then somebody else started screaming for help and I had to go. When I came back to you, your body wasn’t there anymore.”

 _Huh._ Talon never elaborated much on how he was still somewhat alive, but that explains a lot. He clenches his fists. “Should’ve just left it alone.” He mutters, bracing for whatever idealistic ‘don’t say that, life is precious’ speech that would be thrown his way any minute now.

As it is, Mercy just chuckles ruefully. “Maybe.” She says, looking at her own clenched hands, resting on her knees in a pretence of calm, “But what’s done is done. You’re here. Might as well make the most of it.”

Reaper is genuinely impressed at that.

“How are you feeling?” the question is so disconcertingly mundane, so stupid to ask to someone who’s quite literally half-dead, that it startles a laugh out of him.

“I ain’t feeling much of anything, doc.” He says, shrugging, “But that’s par for the course, for me, so whatever.”

Her smile finally shifts from uncomfortable to sincere. “Good. Your visitor is going to be elated you’re fit to receive them.”

“Now wait a sec—” Gabriel tries to protest, but she’s already out of the doors, replaced by a much less graceful presence. Once more, he braces himself. For a punch, a lecture, angry yelling, anything.

“Reyes.” Instead, comes a quiet, carefully restrained call of his old name.

“Don’t call me that.” He hisses, trying to sound threatening, “Reyes is _dead_.”

He isn’t too sure, but he thinks he sees Morrison roll his eyes behind the visor. “Fine. Reaper, is it?” the interrogative is just there to piss him off, and goddamn it’s working. “You’re formally being kept under observation in this Watchpoint until further notice.” Jack states, tone guarded and forcefully calm, and Gabe would almost prefer a punch in the face, anything but that, “Your cooperation in the last mission and your actions against Talon during your time undercover in their ranks will act as extenuating circumstances, but the UN still wants in on evaluation of your case. We’re also consulting with a Vishkar operative giving us relevant insight on some of the controlling technology that might have been used on you in the past.”

 _Undercover?_ The business-like mumbo jumbo never worked on Gabriel –but he knows that Jack knows, and then it hits him. “You’re telling me you’re finding your way around bullshitting the UN into pardoning my crimes.”

It’s not a question, but Morrison answers nonetheless: “There will be tests, a trial and probation period; but if all goes as it should we will be able to get you cleared for active duty within the next eight to ten months.”

 _That_ gets his attention. “What?” he whispers in disbelief.

Jack says nothing, the business-like and military façade melting away to a slight, barely-there embarrassment.

“ _What_???” Gabe repeats, louder this time.

“I’m not giving you up.”

It’s been years since they last talked, even more than that since they last did so without weapons pointed at each other or some other kind of fight going on. Gabriel suddenly feels his temper flare up. “You _idiot!_ You stupid, stupid bastard!” he growls, finally having a reason to smoke out of his restraints as he reforms well into 76’s personal space to grab him by the collar, “You really think the UN is gonna let me go with a slap on the wrist?! Fuck that, have you even considered I might _not_ want to join your little cheerleading team?!”

“I don’t run the show anymore, Gabe. Winston is the commander of the new Overwatch.” Morrison says, letting himself be shaken back and forth during the other’s rant. “I’m just not giving _you_ up.”

Gabriel takes a good look at the man in front of him. Stubborn as ever, it would seem. The white lights of the medbay give everything a slightly sickly feeling, and maybe that’s what makes him see the fatigue and the years on Jack’s face –time hasn’t been too kind to either of them, but neither of them had ever been willing to go down without a fight. For a second, he almost gets lost in how familiar all of this is. The back and forth, the arguing, the closeness.

Especially the closeness.

He suddenly feels he has to let go and put some distance between them, before he does something stupid.

“Hmpf.” He huffs, shoving Morrison back and backtracking towards the bed to sit again. “You have a taste for Death, boy scout.”

Jack turns on his heels and makes for the door; but his last words, thrown over his shoulder just before leaving, are not exactly what Reaper was expecting: “That depends entirely on what kind of taste Death is offering.”

Reyes stares at the closed doors for way too long, processing that.

_Puta madre._

 

His ‘surveillance’, Gabe finds out soon enough, is entirely bullshit. He stays put in the medbay long enough for Angela to perform some more tests on him and regretfully inform him that his… ‘condition’ is not reversible, although she can and will make it less painful for him every time he ‘smokes’ out. Morrison lends him some of his civilian clothes so he can change out of his battle gear from time to time, even though he keeps the cape and mask more often than not anyways –it makes him feels safer. Then, with the excuse of not being allowed out of the sight of his assigned operative, he gets dragged to a karaoke night. A fucking _karaoke night_ in the Watchpoint’s rec room, with all the furniture moved into the corners and this big singing game set up with the TV.

It’s a big surprise to see Genji, _the_ Genji, the “Don’t-talk-to-me-I’ll kill-you-dead-with-my-dragon-sword-fuck-off” Genji, turned into a sappy little shit belting out stupid pop songs and having dance-offs with the musician kid, but what the hell. A lot has changed over the years, apparently.

There’s also the brother. The one Genji had been swearing left right and center he would kill extra-dead back when he knew the cyborg, now apparently reconciled and _serenading_ McCree. Not half-assed either, that’s some hella good singing, but still. Ugh.

At least that explains lots of things –like the little girl, which apparently is their daughter now. Go figure. He sits quietly in a corner, trying to figure them out. They seems so opposite at first glance, and yet, if what he heard about the elder Shimada is true, it does make a lot of sense that those two ended up together; even if he can’t quite piece along how the kid fit into this.

Fuck, he’s getting sentimental if he’s wondering about dorks in love.

Jesse feels the need to “return the favour” and sing a song to the archer too, much to Lena’s delight and some of the new kids’ frustration. He tends to agree with the latter, this is sappy enough as it is and he’s old enough that diabetes is a concern.

Or would be if he wasn’t half-dead.

The entire thing feels just surreal –the first few days he was there the base was complete and utter chaos, and Jesse had all but stormed his room and tried to punch him in the face while screaming for an explanation (finally, _one_ person with a reaction that made sense in his mind), and most of his old acquaintances were struggling with coming to terms with his return… and yet, all that has been pushed aside because they all wanted to get together and party?

Fuck this is weird. He averts his eyes when the Song kid puts on a Japanese rock song of sorts and the Shimada brothers duet it in a way that is probably illegal in several places, much to everyone’s amusement and Jesse’s red-faced discomfort –and he feels Jesse’s pain, because _Jesus Christ_ what the hell was that.

He catches Morrison looking at him from a distance. It’s not the first time it happened tonight, far from it actually, but it’s the first time the Soldier seems to want to do something about it.

They haven’t really interacted much after the infirmary, not alone, but instead of walking up to him, Morrison goes to take the mic and asks Athena to look up tracks.

A high-pitched squeal erupts from someone, maybe Mei, who claps her hands rapidly in anticipation.

Gabriel didn’t really know what to make of Jack’s lingering stare on him before those eyes get lost in the empty space before him and the Soldier starts to sing.

“Ooh death…”

 _Really?_ He thinks, wondering whether this is more stupid or just flat out insulting.

“Oooh death…  
Won't you spare me over 'til a another year?”

He has to admit, though, Jack’s voice is still as nice as he remembers it.

“Well what is this that I can’t see,  
With ice cold hands taking hold of me?”

There’s probably at least six pairs of eyes doing a tennis match back and forth between the two of them, but Gabriel can’t bring himself to care. There’s little to no background music for this track, this _old-ass_ , downright _ancient_ fucking song, and Jack just keeps _looking_  at him.

“Well I am death none can excel  
I'll open the door to heaven or hell..  
Whoa death someone would pray  
Could you wait to call me another day?

The children prayed the preacher preached  
Time and mercy is out of your reach…  
I'll fix your feet so you can't walk  
I'll lock your jaw so you can't talk…”

The song goes on, lyrics that Gabe knows all too well and never really cared for in the first place –he can appreciate the irony, but can’t help but think that there’s an ulterior motive behind the choice of song other than “haha get it? You’re dead it kinda fits”, and for the life of him Reyes can’t understand where this is going.

 _Is he doing what I think he’s doing?_ This feels way too intentional, especially considering the occasional comment Jacks has thrown around here and there. _What are you trying to accomplish, Jack? That part of us was buried with the ruins of the Swiss HQ._ And yet, a part of him aches at the thought of someone still giving a damn. Reaching out to him. Especially _that_ someone.

"Oh the young, the rich, or poor  
Howl like me, you know…  
No wealth no land no silver or gold  
Nothing satisfies me but your soul…”

The entire rec room has grown suspiciously silent, despite the amount of people milling about, save for the occasional twang of the track’s background strings, and some of them are now adverting their eyes –only Jesse and his archer boyfriend seem really at ease, politely watching Jack sing from their position side by side, cuddled together on the couch, Jesse’s lips brushing every now and then against the archer’s temple and the Shimada himself looking on with a tranquil if somewhat wistful expression.

Genji is similarly quiet –another first for the cyborg– leaning against a wall side by side with that omnic master of his.

He doesn’t like this feeling –the one he gets when the people around him seem to know something that he doesn’t. Morrison is just about finishing the song, and his eyes haven’t left their prey for the last good minute.

“Ooh death  
Oooh death

Won't you spare me over 'til a another year?  
Won't you spare me over 'til a another year?  
Won't you spare me over 'til a another year?”

The somewhat expectant silence that follows makes it all the more awkward when he finds himself with nothing to say to that. He carefully stands up and leaves the room, trying not to make too much noise and hoping they’d cut him some slack just this once.

Mercifully, from the other side of the door he hears Winston’s voice: “Athena, please make sure he reaches his designated room safely and stays put.”

 _Heh._ The gorilla is a better leader than he would’ve given him credit for. The atmosphere dissolves after that; and the evening goes on, aided by Lúcio’s awkward but well-meaning “Well. That was a thing. Who’s up for a break and some popcorn?”

 

It gets worse when they start giving him some more leeway to move around base after the first few hearings go well enough that he’s no longer considered an “enemy”, and he starts to see the child.

The child that was in Talon’s custody for the better part of five months and has a cybernetic enhanced right arm, wires merging with skin through carefully placed attachments where some tendons on the wrist should be, and plating joints to make her elbow and knuckles bend properly –because she summoned frickin’ _dragons_.

Estrella, as Gabe learns, is very curious, spunky and very determined –once he overheard her asking Santos how can he cure people with sound and despite the answer not being entirely comprehensible for a kid she played 20 questions until the musician actually ran out of things to say– so it doesn’t surprise him too much that she gets curious about him, too.

Reyes is actually more surprised that the archer actually lets her be around him, what with his past suggestion to just off her and all. Jesse probably had a part in convincing his better half that there’s no need. After all, what could he possibly gain by harming a six year-old?

That’s another thing –Jesse. He was pissed at first, with the obligatory “what the hell asshole, you were alive this whole time, I loved you like a father you jackass”; but it’s gradually… piping down. He hasn’t even properly explained himself to the vaquero yet, he doubts he ever fully will because really, what would it change? The reality of it is that he left, he betrayed everyone he knew, Jesse especially, and no explanation would really excuse his behaviour.

Gabriel told Jesse as much, and was surprised to see him deflate and even crack the barest hint of a smile. “Someone taught me that, even in the face of your worst, you can always turn around and be better.”

Spotting the dopey, stupidly starry-eyed look, Reaper knows immediately what Jesse is talking about and _of course_. He should have known better than to expect any less from the redemption duo.

Hanzo is much more wary, but never openly hostile.

They get the chance to exchange a few words the time he steps into the kitchen to brew himself some coffee and finds archer and daughter at the breakfast table, rice bowl in front of her and tiny triceratops toy to the side.

“Reaper.” The archer politely nods his head in greeting, and is one of the few people on base that actually respect his wish to not be called by name –a courtesy that contrasts greatly to how diffident Hanzo actually is towards him, even though that’s usually only when the daughter is in the picture.

“You know, you don’t have to like me.” He finds himself uttering, as he takes a seat on the farthest possible from the child, and the archer has the gall to shake his head at him.

“It’s not a problem of whether I like you or not.” The elder Shimada says, brushing his hand over his child’s head as he walks by and discreetly puts himself as an obstacle between her and Reyes as he sits in the middle, “I am no stranger to bloody hands, as I’m sure you know –and I am not talking battle blood, I’m talking unfair, dark blood, the kind that doesn’t wash out.”

Reyes is mildly disconcerted, not at the words themselves, but at the delivery. “Should you be telling me this in front of—”

“She knows.” Hanzo interrupts, and goddamn Gabe has a whole new level of respect for both the kid and the archer. “Look, what I am trying to say is… if I have a shot at redemption, then so do you. It would be hypocritical of me to think any less. I am merely unsure whether you actually want it or not.” Some tension seems to ease away from the archer’s shoulders as he finishes his speech. “When you make up your mind, you will ease my worries greatly. But it has to be by your own choice.”

“Hmpf. You’re the first one not to try to shove ‘redemption’ down my throat.” Despite himself, Reyes feels slowly better as he removes the mask to finally drink his coffee. Hanzo stands back up, busying himself with washing his now empty bowl and cutlery.

“Yes, well. To take a page out of Jesse’s book… _been there, done that_.” His imitation of a southern accent is goofy at best, but it does the job. “I know it’s easier said than done.”

Then Reaper catches movement out of the corner of his eye and goes completely still –it’s all he can do not to jump: Estrella has set aside her bowl to climb over the table-top and crawl her way up to him, and is now intently staring at the side of his face.

Hanzo doesn’t even turn. “What did I tell you about climbing furniture, Estrellita?”

“But otousan!” she protests, “You climb shit all the time!” and okay, Reyes thinks, she is kind of adorable.

“Language!” it’s probably a moot point by now, but the archer can’t afford to go too soft on her, McCree is already spoiling her rotten, not to mention the robo-uncles letting her get away with absolutely everything. “And I know how to do it properly. If you want to climb things, make sure you know your fundamentals and don’t forget footwork.”

He isn’t making an effort to rip her away from Reaper or get between them, but does turn to watch the scene, no doubt ready to intervene should anything happen. From her perch right beside the wraith’s face, hands gripping the table, one at the top and one at the corner, Estrella keeps staring at Reyes, seemingly undeterred by his disfigured appearance.

“You have the same face as otousan, shadowman.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, because his face is half-decayed and surely the impeccably groomed archer would take offense, but nothing. Gabriel doesn’t quite know what to make of it. “I ain’t sure your eyes work to well, little gremlin.”

She just shakes her head vigorously. “Your face is the same as otousan’s was before he and papi got together for real.” She elaborates, unknowingly hinting that the elder Shimada had been a self-loathing mess for a while, until he and Jesse managed to get over their pining and decided that licking each other’s wounds was a better use of the time for everyone involved.

Hanzo actually laughs at that, a bona-fide, open mouthed laugh. “You’re too perceptive for your own good, Estrellita.” He coos, coughing into his hand to try and regain his stern demeanor, “Now be a good girl and leave mr Reaper alone.”

The child pouts, but moves to turn and go back –or would have, but her right hand slips off the corner of the table and she falls sideways. The archer moves fast, but Gabriel was closer.

He shoots his arms forward and grabs Estrella under the armpits before she can smack the side of her head on the table or worse. For a second, he goes stock still. It’s been a long, long time ever since he last held someone with no intention to kill, let alone cradled a child in his arms.

Big blue eyes look up at him with just a hint of leftover fear, and he rapidly hands her off to Hanzo, who readily takes her and lowers her to stand on the floor, checking her over for injuries.

“Are you okay, my child? Did you get hurt?”

“Mh-mm.” she shakes her head sheepishly, “I’m okay, otousan.”

“Good…” It would have been disgustingly sweet, if Hanzo didn’t make a complete 180°, as he turns grumpy as soon as he’s sure there’s no damage. He takes one of Estrella’s hands with his own and lightly slaps her on the knuckles. “That’s why I keep telling you to be careful!” the archer says, voice rising slightly, “You could hurt yourself badly, and then what would Jesse and I do?”

The child’s expression falls miserably, and she looks like she’s two seconds away from crying –so much so that even Reaper wonders how one can stay mad at that face. “I-I’m sorry, otousan.”

“Next time be more careful, understood?” She nods pitifully, and finally the archer softens, turning the hold on Estrella’s hands into a gentle caress. “What’s important now is that nothing bad happened.  Let’s go now. I believe somebody asked to try meditation with her robot uncles.”

Hanzo mouths a quiet “Thank you” to him, while ushering the child away and out of the kitchen, and Reaper is left wondering what kind of rabbit hole has he gone through to end up with what would amount to a granddaughter.

 _Would_ , because he’s _not_ that Gabriel Reyes anymore and he doesn’t have any right to even cling to the _memory_ of being a father figure to Jesse and he’s _most definitely not jealous_ of the cheerful call of ‘hi, Soldier grandpa!’ that the little munchkin extends to a grumpy but amused Morrison –he also most definitely does not linger with his eyes, staring even after the people in the hallway are long gone just because Jack caught his eyes and winked at him with a mock-salute. Asolutely not.

 

Morrison himself, of course, continues pushing him constantly. It’s been months, well into late summer, and he can’t believe Overwatch is actually playing the UN with their own logic –following all the rules, going through with a psychological evaluation and bringing up his case with proof concerning his latest course of action and other evidence of his subtle sabotage of Talon, no doubt acquired thanks to a certain purple-haired hacker who just can’t mind her own business.

They push the case, and they _win it._

He won’t be clear for active duty until a probation period of drills and observation clears, but he’s crossed off the list of known terrorists and back into the “don’t know, not gonna ask” column. The UN seem more than glad to just be rid of this bullshit and let this sham of an organization keep him.

Gabriel can kind of see their reasoning –with the PETRAS act getting weaker and weaker, amended time and time again to the push of a rapidly growing approval of the new and recalled Overwatch; it’s much better if someone like the Reaper is safely tucked into Overwatch’s pocket rather than running rampant on their own.

Because they know that no one except Morrison can ever hope to keep him in one place –Gabe himself isn’t even sure why he’s staying in the first place.

But he does end up staying.

Things that are old and new merge together, hopelessly lost arm-wrestling contests with Reinhardt, bickering with Morrison when the Soldier simply wouldn’t leave him alone only ended when somebody –usually Jesse – yells at them to “quit it with the foreplay and get a room”; tall tales around the rec room with miss Song and Santos, the comings and goings of a base that is finally starting to respond to missions with government approval, no longer having to sneak around or rely solely on stolen –though admittedly damn near endless– ex-yakuza savings.

He hears the pet name ‘Anger Grandpa’ thrown around, and bristles at it –right before realizing he’s playing right into it and forcing himself to calm down.

It’s another one of those days where everyone around him is just… living. They go about their day without a care, and not a soul has any restraint or spite towards him –any and all grudge directed at the not-so-dead Gabriel Reyes having been displayed soon into his admission at Watchpoint and being more along the lines of “where have you been, you ass” than anything else– it drives him crazy.

Reaper has tried to kill each and every one of them at least once, has betrayed the old guard and disappeared back when it seemed like the only reasonable choice to not doom them all for good; he cannot possibly believe the redemption bullshit both Shimada brothers have been trying to feed him.

“You should try to talk to Jesse.” He also refuses to jump out of his poor excuse for a skin when Jack comes up behind him, on the balcony he had taken refuge in. “He misses the real you. And his daughter is a sweetheart.”

Gabriel scoffs, eyes never leaving the landscape before them. Summer gets hot as all fuck, in Gibraltar, and the Watchpoint is on the extreme point of this godforsaken rock. From their vantage point, they can see the rocky shore and the beach, all the way to the sea. It’s so sunny Reyes has to do a double take, when he realizes he hasn’t been able to simply enjoy the sunlight in a long, long time.

Still, it’ll be a cold day in hell before he gives Morrison the satisfaction of being right. “Seems to me they got all the family they need.”

Morrison settles besides him, hands on the railing as he bumps him with his shoulder. “You don’t get to choose family, Gabe.”

“I’m pretty damn sure the happy picture in there is proof that you do, Jackie.” He counters, pointing a thumb behind and chancing a sideways look and not liking one bit the smug little smirk he finds.

Or maybe liking it entirely too much for it to be healthy. Worse even, he realizes how much he missed it, and tries valiantly to squish the thought and chain it in a secluded corner of his mind.

“Maybe…” Morrison concedes, turning around to rest his elbows on the railing and look inside with a sigh. The weight of the last decade and then some is definitely there, and yet Jack hasn’t changed much. He’s still the picture-perfect stereotype of America’s golden boy, all beaming looks and relaxed poise… Reyes used to make fun of him for it so much, and yet he secretly liked it, how Morrison was everything he was not, the lights to his shadows, how perfectly they completed one another while clashing, and that’s why they worked so well together and – _crap he needs to end that train of thought right now because Jack’s still speaking and he’s just watching his lips move_. “…but there’s some things you simply can’t get away from, no matter how you run.”

Then he moves in, conspiratorial, the barest touch of fingers on Gabe’s shoulder and the hint of breath close to his ears: “You still call me ‘Jackie’.”

Gabriel feels two opposite urges, but in the end insecurity wins, and he follows through with the one that compels him to shove Morrison away. “Get the fuck out of my face, _Soldier_.”

 

For all his posturing and rebuttals, he does end up talking to Jesse. He finds the gunslinger in the training range, dressed in casual jeans and t-shirt but still with the fucking Stetson on his head, watching from afar as his partner teaches their daughter how to properly climb without falling, complete with a harness and all the security protocols Athena can provide.

Surprisingly, Jesse is the one to speak first:

“You know…” he begins, not once removing his fond gaze from the scene not too far away, “I used ta think that I was better off not having any kids, that I just wasn’t made fer none o’ this and wouldn’t be able to do right by any family of my own. That I didn’t deserve it none.” Not surprising. Reyes himself thought the same, back before circumstances forced him to snatch a cheeky 17-year old out of a gang and into Blackwatch. McCree heaves a sigh that is part thoughtful and part content. “But then I see Han, and I see Estrella, and even Genji, that lil’ shit. They make me wanna try. Be better. Make me feel like I _can_ have it, if I really wanna do right by ‘em.”

“Get to the point, cowboy.” Reaper crosses his arms, annoyed, but his farce is not as believable, considering he’s the one who sought the other out and stood awkwardly by his side, desperately fishing for something to say until Jesse took mercy on him and started speaking.

“Sure thing, boss.” McCree jokes, and the appellative hurts so much because it’s so familiar, and what business does the gunslinger think he has, making him reminisce of things long lost with a single word? He almost misses the cowboy’s following words: “Point is… you can let yerself have this, too. I ain’t sayin’ you didn’t do awful shit and we’ll just get in a big circle and sing kumbayah while holding hands, but… you came back. You stayed. You’re trying.” There’s a pause, and Reyes still knows Jesse enough to be able to spot the crack in the bravado giving way to uncertainty. “That counts for something. My best friend once told me that the reality is that we’re alive, and that’s a truth that we simply can’t let go to waste.”

Not quite a word-for-word quote, and definitely not delivered with the same gravitas, but it seems to do the job. Gabriel is silent for a long while, but he eventually relents, his shoulders sag slightly and his voice loses the menacing edge.

“I… don’t know if I’m up for it, mijo.”

That lone word is enough to bring a huge, stupid smile to Jesse’s face. “Well, that’s the beauty of family now, ain’t it?” he asks, still with his shit-eating grin, “We get to find out together.”

 

Things get better after that.

He still doesn’t quite see himself as part of the team, and still grumpily protests “not your grandpa” whenever Estrella calls him that, but he does start to feel it.

Not something as cliché as a sense of belonging, but something more akin to freedom. The liberating sensation of not having to watch over his shoulder every waking second of his life, of being able to laugh sardonically at a stupid joke or grudgingly accept a hand up during training just because _he fucking can_.

It’s exhilarating.

He still can’t believe how any of these people would actually trust him half as much as they seem to, and the thoughts occurs to him again in the training ground’s locker rooms, when he crosses paths with a sweaty, definitely fatigued Jack that doesn’t feel so spry anymore after a training session with the much younger and energetic recruits.

The fact that the Vishkar tech seems like quite the hardass and that Zaryanova lady seems absolutely batshit crazy, not to mention being more ripped than any soldier he ever knew, might be a factor, Reyes muses.

He was just about to hit the showers himself, but Morrison’s presence makes him hesitate –and he hates that it does, because he’s pushing sixty and should not get flustered like a fucking teenager, but all he can do not to stop and stare as the Soldier undresses _right beside him_ is to just focus extra hard on folding his own sweats and stacking them on the bench. Idly, he remembers he still needs to ask Winston who to thank for the supply run that gave him somewhat of an actual wardrobe.

Morrison just chuckles and waves a greeting at him, the _monumental jerkface_ , and this is so unfair because it’s all his fault, he’s been throwing around little jabs at him ever since they brought him back, he fucking flirted with him straight out of the med-bay, clinging obsessively to a past that was not their own anymore, day after day and week after week, and it’s just _so not fair—_

Somewhere in the midst of his inner rant, Jack stepped away and into one of the shower stalls, for once preferring to actually do what he was here for instead of messing with him.

Gabriel decides it’s time to strike back. He smokes out, not even caring that he’s buck-naked, and slowly mists into the shower, right behind Morrison, but when he reforms, it’s with a shotgun in his hand. He grabs the soldier by the side, and points the weapon just under his chin, revelling in the feeling of _finally_ catching the pendejo off-guard.

“I could shoot you.” He enunciates, gravelly and to the point. “I could shoot you, and you’d die. Naked and in a fucking shower.”

Against all his predictions, Jack doesn’t move. They both know that, now that he announced himself, Morrison has at least half-a dozen ways to get out of the situation, some of which even lethal. But the Soldier doesn’t voice any counter. “And I could let you.” He says instead, because of course Gabriel was only doing this to prove a point, and of _fucking_ course Jack’s mission immediately becomes to prove him wrong. “I could let you, Gabe.”

The Soldier doesn’t struggle against the hold, he even leans more into the barrel pointed at is throat, downright resting his chin on the weapon, and okay, this is so not what Reyes had in mind when he started this, and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea in the first place.

“…why?” he finally voices, not relinquishing hold or weapon, but not moving to make good on his threat either. “Why would you let me?”

Only then Jack moves, but instead of tossing him over his shoulder or making any other such move, Morrison simply turns in Gabriel’s hold to face him and rest both hand on either of the other’s shoulders.

“Because I wouldn’t want to live in a world where you would actually take the shot.”

Okay, this goes far beyond the casual flirting or reminiscing of the past and slides neck deep into ‘actual confession’ territory, and Reyes knows he’s fucked, he’s been for a long time because he can’t run from this man, no matter how much he tries or what he tells himself.

It’s the reason he stayed, the reason he tried, the reason he’s making good on Sombra’s parting gift to him.

Morrison is basically blind without his visor, but, Reyes absently notes, his eyes are still blue. So blue. In the back of his mind, Gabe remembers they’re both still naked under the running water, but he’s way too old to let that minor detail take anything away from the experience that is hearing those words.

Stupid, idealistic, absurdly sentimental boy-scout.

It’s been a long time. He had hoped he’d be able to wait it out, to suppress the feeling with time and distance, shielding himself and pulling away from the force that relentlessly tugged him in since day one, but…

He’s defeated.

He lets go of the shotgun, and it doesn’t even clatter to the floor, dissolving well before hitting the ground, while Gabriel says nothing, grabs him by the back of the head and just dives in for the kiss. And then it’s like it hasn’t even been a single day, his lips remember where to go and how to fit like last time was yesterday.

It takes a while before they part for air, almost as if they would stop breathing if their lips separated and not the other way around, but when they eventually do Morrison is smiling –and not his poster child smile, an actual, goofy, daydreaming smile.

“You kept me waiting.” He says, resting his forehead against Gabe’s. “That’s not nice.”

He huffs, hands gong to rest on the small of Jack’s back. “You really have a taste for Death, boy scout.”

This time, Morrison’s chuckle doesn’t sound so irritating anymore.

“Not my fault Death tastes so good.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

Needless to say, they end up taking entirely too long to finish that shower.

They walk back side by side, not saying anything, and Gabriel is definitely happy that he can wear his mask to hide the surely dumb expression he has on his face –because really, Morrison may look like the plainest stereotype of white dude on the planet, but good God if he got his hands on you it’ll mess up your brain for weeks – then he recalls the conversation with McCree and, suddenly, some of the fortune cookie bullshit that no doubt came from one or possibly both Shimadas starts to make sense.

_The reality of things is that we’re alive, and it’s a truth we simply cannot let go to waste._

He may not deserve it, he may not have even wanted it at first, but he has a second shot at this. Without the corporate bullshit corrupting the inner workings of something that was meant to be cohesive and positive, without any obstacle to just let himself have a safe space where he could simply _be_.

And fuck if it isn’t worth the trouble.

He grins to himself, and sneaks a pinch on Jackie’s butt as they walk, enjoying the little flinch and hiss of “Cut it out, Gabe!”

Maybe.

Maybe staying was a good idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ...once he get over himself and his need to be the sassy Edgelord, Gabe is SO going to spoil Estrella rotten.  
>  Good times.


End file.
